Believe
Grace sat on her back porch, her back to Robyn, cello between her knees and lost in song. Robyn leaned against the house, watching Grace play, fascinated by the movement of her left hand that produced a rich tremolo for her audience of cows. Three of them were staring at her, one tipped down on its knee to reach under the fence for the long grass that grew on Grace’s side. She thought it impolite for the one cow to be foraging instead of watching Grace, appreciating the way her body became part of the music. Grace held her arm extended over the cello after the last long note ended and seemed lost in thought. Robyn hated to break the spell. Even the breeze off the ocean seemed to be rippling the flowing grass in the field beyond Grace’s porch as gently as possible. Red curls that had escaped Grace’s hairclip gleamed under the setting sun and danced on her shoulder.
“You look like a fairy princess lost in a dream,” Robyn finally said.
“Oh!” Grace spun around, her bowing hand pressed to her chest. She glanced at her watch. “You’re early.”
Robyn gestured to the cows. “If they’re expecting another, I’m happy to wait.”
“Look at them. Always unimpressed. No matter what I play, they have the same expression, chew with that same bored look.”
“I wasn’t bored at all. The piece you just played is beautiful. What was it?”
“‘The Swan.’ I still haven’t figured out how to make it soar. When it’s done right, it’s as graceful as a swan gliding, floating on the surface of the water. But under all that is the powerful energy that goes unseen beneath the water. That’s what propels the swan forward, but you’re not meant to see it.”
“Like ‘The Ugly Duckling.’ During the winter, he has to keep swimming in circles to keep the pond from freezing, but come spring, what the children see is how graceful and beautiful he is.”
“I don’t remember that part.”
Robyn felt Grace assess her in a new way. “My papa and I found this great volume of Andersen’s original tales once.” She slipped into a memory of her grandfather explaining used bookstores, how he never went in with an idea of what he wanted, rather waiting to see what the bookstore had for him. Sifting for treasures was how he’d described it.
“Which is still on your bookshelf, and if we were at your place, you’d have your finger on the spine already, wouldn’t you?” Grace pushed the endpin into the cello and loosened the bow, a smile playing on her lips.
Robyn agreed. “And I’d find that scene and start reading, and you’d be so charmed by his words, I’d keep reading all the way to the end.”
“Next time I’m there, you have to read the whole thing aloud to me. I’d love that.”
“Happy to.” Robyn followed Grace through the back door and waited for her to stow her cello in its case. “You don’t play that piece with the quartet, do you?”
“No. How do you know that?”
A shy smile crept across Robyn’s lips. “I sometimes sit in my room and listen to you practice.”
“And yet you’re always downstairs when we’re clearing out.” She slipped into Robyn’s arms. “Thank you for coming here for dinner tonight.”
“I finally get to see your place,” Robyn said. Grace stepped away to take dinner out of the oven while Robyn explored the living room, stroking the white leather lounge suite and examining the artfully arranged books and photographs on the thick white floating shelves. Robyn wondered if Tyler had made them. “It suits you.”
“How so?”
“Little things, the bright red chairs on the front porch are clearly your accent. You have nice things, and everything matches, like you. I wear clothes. You wear outfits, usually.”
Grace gave a throaty laugh. “I thought I was going to have time to change.”
Robyn appreciated the faded jeans and new Humboldt State sweatshirt that Grace was wearing. “What you wore the day you came to the barn to take care of Bean wasn’t this relaxed.”
“So you were watching me.” Grace tilted her head.
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Exactly why I always take care to look presentable, even if I’m just running to the corner grocery.”
“I like this.”
“And I, this.” Grace ran her fingers along Robyn’s shoulders. “You’re the one wearing an outfit tonight. Such a lovely sweater, but it would be even better showing off more of you.” She eased the zippered front down a few inches.
Robyn was glad for the extra care she had taken in pressing her pants and choosing her sweater. “Isabel bought it for me years ago.”
“Tell her I approve of her taste. And I’m guessing you pressed these yourself.” She ran her hand down to Robyn’s thigh, sparking every nerve ending she touched.
“Military training pays off.”
“It certainly does. I like that you dressed up tonight.” Grace’s eyes sparkled.
“All for you.”
Grace nipped Robyn’s neck below her ear. “For me to take off,” she whispered.
Robyn sucked in a deep breath when Grace’s hands touched down and began exploring.
“Please allow me to outline the benefits of not having tenants.”
“What about Tyler?”
“Out.”
“Will I need to take notes?”
“I have a PowerPoint you can print out later,” Grace assured.
* * *
Lying in bed, Grace propped herself up on an elbow. “Hungry?”
“Insatiable.”
“For food.”
“That is what you promised tonight,” Robyn said, though she didn’t move, enjoying the weight of Grace’s leg draped over her own. She traced the freckles below Grace’s collarbone, trying to find a constellation.
Abruptly, Grace sat up and swung over to straddle Robyn. “You said you’d promise to think about the San Francisco Art Exhibition.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check it out,” Robyn said. She’d had plenty of time but had no interest in joining artists from the college and community. While she was thrilled for the opportunity it offered Humboldt County’s artists, she had no desire to be seen on a larger scale.
“Here.” Grace eased off Robyn and crossed the room to grab her laptop.
Robyn rolled to her side to get a better view of the curves she loved. “You’d be the perfect subject for a sketch class.”
Grace sashayed her tush as she quickly navigated the Internet before carrying the computer back to the bed. “The groups of students I’ve run into in your living room, sometimes it feels like that’s what I’m walking into.”
Sensing seriousness in Grace’s tone, Robyn scrounged her clothes and slipped into them. “I didn’t know they bothered you.”
“Lucky for you they’re theater nerds, not sketch artists,” she said, her voice slightly less tight. “Take a look at the Art Exhibition site while I plate dinner.” She reached for her jeans and then stopped. “Shall I put on what I was going to wear tonight?” She cocked her hip awaiting Robyn’s reply.
“No. Those jeans are incredibly sexy.”
With a brisk nod, Grace dressed and left the room.
Unsettled by Grace’s shifting mood, Robyn carried the laptop to the table, scrolling through testimonials of artists who attributed the San Francisco Art Exhibition to the launch of their successful careers.
“Take a look at this,” Grace said, placing Robyn’s plate in front of her and clicking to a photo gallery of lathe-spun wooden bowls. “What do you think?”
The pictures were beautiful, but Robyn preferred to hold a bowl to assess it. So much of its beauty lay in the shape and weight, the feel and finish of the product. “Impressive.” She folded the laptop and pulled her plate toward her.
When Grace returned with her own plate, she frowned. “I was going to show you where Ruth’s photographs are.”
“Now that I know where it is, I’ll look it up at home.”
Headlights lit up the curtains next to the table, and Robyn leaned over to lift the edge.
“What are you doing?” Grace whispered.
“I just want to see who Tyler’s hanging out with. Male? Female? Aren’t you curious?”
“Stop. What if he sees you?”
“His head is in the car. He can’t see me, and you’ll never learn anything if you don’t spy a little.” When Grace reached across the table and smacked her hand, she dropped the curtain, surprised.
“Who else are you spying on?”
“The baby dyke who has been hanging around the house waiting for Jen’s lessons to finish.”
“Aren’t you the classic Mother Hen.”
“It’s not like Jen has volunteered anything. She’s playing it close to her chest, saying they’re just enjoying each others’ company.”
“Hey sis, Robyn,” Tyler interrupted as he beelined to the kitchen to study the contents of the refrigerator.
“There’s still some ziti in the pan,” Grace offered.
Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Can I kill it?”
“Sure.”
“Those the guys you met up at the theater?” Robyn asked as casually as she could.
Tyler popped the ziti in its dish into the microwave and poured a large glass of milk.
“How did you already know who was in the car?” Grace asked.
“You guys are spying on me?” Tyler sounded wounded.
“One of my tenants said that he saw you up at the theater. He was surprised to recognize you at the house a few weeks back.”
“Oh, yeah. I thought since they make sets up there they might be tossing stuff I could use. I got some good lumber, and they offered to show me around town when I said I just moved here. Any good estate sales coming up?” he said, changing the subject.
“None I’m interested in. My shed’s about maxed out on space,” Robyn answered, wondering how to bend the topic back to the guys Tyler had met at the theater. “The end of the term is coming up. I’ll be hitting the yard sales. Students have to unload the stuff they aren’t going to keep in storage over the summer.”
“And then sell it back to them in the fall? Sneaky,” Tyler said. “But you still have information on sales coming up?”
“There’s one at Stansbury Mansion, but they won’t be selling anything our speed.”
“It sounds interesting, though,” he said. “A mansion?”
“I’ve only been inside once. Years ago it was part of a tour of historic homes. It’s quite spectacular. I’d go to get a chance to tour the building but not to bid on anything.”
“If the two of you aren’t going to be lost in bidding wars, I might even be convinced to come along,” Grace said.
“If it’s anything like it was when I was a kid, you’ll be in heaven. They had some amazing artwork, plus all the furniture matches,” Robyn ribbed Grace lightly. Turning the conversation back to Tyler, she asked if he’d contacted the owners of an organic farm out in Blue Lake to see if they’d be interested in his greenhouse.
“Not yet.”
“They said they’d have a look as a favor to me,” Robyn pressed.
Tyler brought the warmed ziti to the table and shoveled in a bite, puffing past it in an attempt to keep from burning his tongue. He swallowed and gulped his milk. “I’d rather finish up some of the smaller shelves and chairs in time for the fair if you’ll still give me a corner of your booth.”
Grace smiled at Robyn. “That’s generous of you and what good news for me!”
“Why’s that?” Robyn asked, frustrated that she hadn’t been able to make her point about Tyler needing to follow through with his large-scale project.
“If he’s taking up space in your booth, you don’t need as much inventory at the fair, so you could have some to put in the Art Exhibition.”
The way Tyler nodded encouragingly, Robyn sensed that neither sibling had heard anything she’d said. She remembered Hans Christian Andersen’s story again, how the hen and the cat demanded that the ugly duckling purr or lay eggs, refusing to hear that the duckling wants only to swim and dive. She couldn’t understand Grace’s inability to accept that she was content on her own scale and uncomfortable being pushed beyond it. She didn’t want to disappoint Grace, but she certainly didn’t want to go to the city either.